


You Made Your Mark On Me

by fantasticalbird



Series: Golden Tattoo [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Constantine (Comic), Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics)
Genre: All Caste, Lazarus Pit Side Effects, M/M, Magic, Magical Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasticalbird/pseuds/fantasticalbird
Summary: John follows a powerful magic to a London Nightclub and is surprised by what he finds.Magic was a fickle thing. If luck was a lady, then magic was an elusive mistress. Taking the form of her wielder for a night before disappearing back to the ether, hidden and secret. Unless you knew where to look.





	You Made Your Mark On Me

Magic was a fickle thing. If luck was a lady, then magic was an elusive mistress. Taking the form of her wielder for a night before disappearing back to the ether, hidden and secret. Unless you knew where to look. By that logic, it means John’s particular brand of mysticism was more like a dominatrix beating him black and blue and hungry for more with her power. A unique signature, the same way Zatanna’s felt like an old love, Faust’s a fierce, independent, and barely contained force. Each transaction marked with a unique signature, a calling card for her Gentlemen Callers. 

 

This particular calling card was like an elastic band snapping on the back of John’s neck. Relentless call for attention, disrupting his sleep, his cigarettes, a late night bender or two. John had felt it for days in varying stages of intensity. It was the worst at night, seemingly feeding off of the lunar cycles before fading away at the crack of dawn. Slowing to a faint buzz, thrumming under his skin. He had felt it before, in Gotham. A buzzing when he was around the Bat, akin to the dull buzz of an old lightbulb. He had always assumed that it belonged to Bruce. Some kind of electricity borne out of the city. 

 

After all, there had to be some magic involved for him to survive as long as he had, dressed as a Bat and careening into the night sky like a maniac. John didn’t think luck was that kind to anyone, but Magic? Magic didn’t play by the rules of good and bad, of deserving and undeserving. There was no roulette wheel to her. Choices were made simple, survival of the fittest it seemed. Even if that survival was simply perpetuated by the mysterious force itself. 

 

Despite what the Bat might think, magic was definitely one of the few things keeping him from punching his clock. 

 

But as John followed the thrum, took a cab all the way through London to Vauxhall he realized that  this magic thrum definitely didn’t belong to Bruce. Color him curious. The pull of its energy led him to a neon lit nightclub, filled with the scent of sweat and sickly sweet booze. Thumping bass that drew bodies together, a pulse moving across the dancefloor with a life of its own. 

 

John hardly fit in with his black jeans and his white oxford, a tie loosely hanging from his neck as he made his way through the sea of moving bodies. The snapping sensation had turned into a incessant burning now, calling John through the room like an ancient game of hot and cold. Each wrong turn he could feel the pointed tug, changing his direction until he caught sight of the bar. 

 

“Bloody hell.” The kid looked like a beacon in the darkness of the club. Death hung onto him, that chilling presence that seeped into John’s bones as he got closer. An ancient and old magic rearing itself as he moved close. All that magic, all that incessant thrumming, all of it contained in a kid leaning against the bar, jeans slung low over narrow hips and thick thighs, tight t-shirt covered in a thin layer of glitter. 

 

It was an ancient force, now that John was close to it, a mix of magics that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A broadcast signal that strong was bound to garner some other attention. From things, and people, far less savory that John Constantine. 

 

“Seat taken love?” John asked out of politeness, but slid into the stool next to the kid anyways. He turned his head to look at John, a deliberate movement that was disguised as lazy and languid. The kid was as inattentive as a panther prowling for the kill. His eyes met John’s, and there it was. That jade green, almost glowing, sharp and attentive. It’s the whispers of the lazarus pit crawling to the surface, and John watches warily. 

 

“Be my guest.” His voice isn’t what John is expecting, looking at him in the distance from across the bar. It’s deep, husky, whiskey soaked from smoking. John gestures for the bartender to bring them both a drink before looking back at his newfound magic wielder. The kid’s turning to face him now, all broad shoulders and muscles under too tight clothes. “Constantine.” 

 

John grabs the glass from the bartender, grins down into his Jamieson’s. At least it saved this part of the conversation, the part where they both talked in circles around magic and all it had to offer. Used euphemisms that sometimes landed, other times only added more confusion. He’d be glad to keep away from that song and dance for the night. Instead, he slides the other glass of whiskey over to the seat next to him and watches the kid settle, that restless energy still charged around them. “ One of B’s kids, I presume.” Open ended enough that it won’t land of John’s wrong, but he doesn’t think he is if the sneer is anything to go by. 

 

“Jason.” He tells him, drinks back his whiskey in one long pull. It’s then that John catches the purple glow of his wrist, can’t stop staring even when Jason brings the glass back down to the counter. Jason is watching John watch him, and the sharpness of his gaze should be unsettling. But, John’s too old and too foolish now to find anything really unsettling. 

 

Instead he says, “Himalayan magic can be a real treat.” He points a finger to Jason’s wrist, watches as he frowns down at it. Like he can’t see the swirl of energy there, that John can only guess are everywhere. Across his back, his chest, his legs and arms, tugging energy. 

 

“What are you talking about.” 

 

“All that energy, it’s like a giant magical bat signal, sending out waves of energy and looking for an outlet.” John didn’t know what had caused it to be so active, but he could see it all over Jason. The marks of the All Caste, The Lazarus pit, League Magic marking him up, and then something else, thrumming lower, something older. John didn’t bring that up, that little ancient thing that was probably responsible for the shock of white in his hair, and the spectre hanging back. It’s all tragedy, something John’s too familiar with, and doesn’t want to bring up. “I’m sure I’m not the only one that’s noticed.” 

 

“Can you help me with that?” Jason’s voice is languid, carries over the bass like the call of a siren. Magic seeping at the words, and John suddenly wonders how many nights in a row he’s come here. How many nights has he been seeking some kind of release that another body just can’t give? Seeking some kind of fulfillment under neon lights and glitter. 

 

“I think I can.” John gives him a patented lopsided grin, and drops a bill on the plexiglass bar. 

: : :

 

It’s the magic. That’s what John tells himself when Jason presses him up against the front door of his apartment, has one of those thick thighs pressed between his legs. The magic that has Jason licking a stripe up his neck. It needs release, it needs an outlet. John will happily oblige, takes some of that old magic for himself. He fumbles with his keys as Jason presses behind him, laughs against John’s ear. 

 

“B always said you were a bad influence.” 

 

“ Your old man’s got some good sense.” Jason bites his ear and John hisses, the keys click into the lock and he’s pushing the door open. “Sore spot love?” 

 

A growl is the response he gets as Jason pushes them through the threshold, kicks the door closed behind him. He’s got his shirt off and is tossing it aside with a hunger that John knows is  _ definitely  _ the magic. His chest is an extension of his wrist. Ancient runes and shapes scrawl over his broad chest, arch over corded shoulders, and spread down his back, disappearing past the waistband of his pants. 

 

“On the bed.” John points vaguely to the direction of the bedroom. Watches as Jason toes off his jeans as he goes, more glowing scrawl down his legs, disappearing where his briefs start. “Must be driving you mad.” Magics feeding one another. The pit surging through his veins, the caste curling around it, absorbing the soul energy. Life and death, and life again, twisting around him and painting his skin. Jason just nods, stretches out on the bed. 

 

John rolls up his sleeves, closes the bedroom door. He licks his lips when he catches sight of Jason. Spread out on his duvet, skin and muscle, eyes half lidded and glowing in the darkness. All need, and want, seeking a release that can only come from two things. Another theft of magic, or a release of it. Kid had probably spilled a lot of blood like this, and the thought makes John pause for only a moment before he kneels on the bed. 

 

Jason’s up on him in a second, lips against John’s. His smooth skin catching on John’s five o’clock shadow, pulling a moan out of Jason. He smooths palms up his side, lets his fingers trail along his back. Shapes anything but mindless as he chases Jason’s lips with his own, as he tastes the remnants of the whiskey at the bar, pulls back and can see a piece of glitter stuck to his cheek, the glowing heat of his tattoos. Then, the thread of the magic, perfect, like a thread of fate. Glowing between them, wrapped around John’s hand. 

 

“Hold on, love.” He warned, voice warm and liquid before he tugged. Kissing Jason, swallowing the moan that came with it. Swallowed up his own groan at the sensation. A wave crashing over him, euphoric, and terrifying, a tinting his vision green and violet, intoxicating, and almost overwhelming. Even as John worked at bringing himself back down, locking it away for later. 

 

When John opened his eyes, Jason’s blue’s were staring back at him, pupils blown, but  the glow of the pit was gone. The swirls of mysticism on his skin were gone, leaving nothing behind but silver slashed skin. Painted with scars and  stories of the life he had led. “Holy shit.” John snorted, fished in his pants for his crushed pack of smokes. Jason held his hand out for one, leaned back against John’s pillows. 

 

“That’s magic for ya.” John flicked his fingers and produced a flame, lit Jason’s cigarette. “Best lay of your life, if she feels like it.” Jason laughs and plucks the cigarette from John’s fingers and takes a long drag. John watches as he sucks back on the cigarette, takes a drag like he’s trying to snuff out his own ability to breathe. 

He settles back down on the pillows, one arm propping him up. They haven’t done anything more than kiss, but there’s an intimacy between them that’s almost stronger than sex. John’s seen a glimpse into the deepest secrets of Jason’s life, his death, a resurrection he didn’t want. All private things that aren’t shared easy, but then that’s the kicker with magic. She does what she wants, and for the most part, you’re just along for the ride. 

 

Jason grabs John’s arm, drags him down onto the mattress. It feels funny, being fully clothed while he lounges in just a pair of boxers, like its his most natural state. “You think you could do this for me again sometime?” His voice is suddenly serious, and he looks like he’s aged ten years when he turns to look at John. He can see Gotham in him now, in the serious tilt of his brow, the jut of his jaw. 

 

“Happen often?” John asks, and Jason looks away from him. Tips his head back and takes another long drag before he shrugs a shoulder. 

 

“Nah,” He blows a smoke ring, and looks at John again, all that heaviness gone from his face in a quick motion of a wall going up. “Just a good lay s’all.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of dying over this pairing. I owe a lot to the lovely OhMcGee for helping me get these drabbles going. You're a total babe, and thanks for kicking my ass to post them here. If I missed anything on the TW or any of the warnings, please let me know!


End file.
